"God has enlisted us in his navy and placed us on his ship. The boat has one purpose—to carry us safely to the other shore.

This is no cruise ship; it’s a battleship.

We aren’t called to a life
of leisure; we are called to a life of service. Each of us has a
different task. Some, concerned with those who are drowning, are
snatching people from the water. Others are occupied with the enemy, so
they man the cannons of prayer and worship. Still others devote
themselves to the crew, feeding and training the crew members.

Though different, we are the same. Each can tell of a personal encounter
with the captain, for each has received a personal call. He found us
among the shanties of the seaport and invited us to follow him. Our
faith was born at the sight of his fondness, and so we went.

We
each followed him across the gangplank of his grace onto the same boat.
There is one captain and one destination. Though the battle is fierce,
the boat is safe, for our captain is God. The ship will not sink. For
that, there is no concern.

There is concern, however, regarding
the disharmony of the crew. When we first boarded we assumed the crew
was made up of others like us. But as we’ve wandered these decks, we’ve
encountered curious converts with curious appearances. Some wear
uniforms whenever seen, sporting styles we’ve never witnessed. “Why do
you look the way you do?” we ask them.
“Funny,” they reply. “We were about to ask the same of you.”

The variety of dress is not nearly as disturbing as the plethora of
opinions. There is a group, for example, who clusters every morning for
serious study. They promote rigid discipline and somber expressions.
“Serving the captain is serious business,” they explain. It’s no
coincidence that they tend to congregate around the stern.

There
is another regiment deeply devoted to prayer. Not only do they believe
in prayer, they believe in prayer by kneeling. For that reason you
always know where to locate them; they are at the bow of the ship.

And then there are a few who staunchly believe real wine should be used
in the Lord’s Supper. You’ll find them on the port side.

Still
another group has positioned themselves near the engine. They spend
hours examining the nuts and bolts of the boat. They’ve been known to go
below deck and not come up for days. They are occasionally criticized
by those who linger on the top deck, feeling the wind in their hair and
the sun on their face. “It’s not what you learn,” those topside argue.
“It’s what you feel that matters.”

And, oh, how we tend to cluster.

Some think once you’re on the boat, you can’t get off. Others say you’d be foolish to go overboard, but the choice is yours.

Some believe you volunteer for service; others believe you were destined for the service before the ship was even built.

Some predict a storm of great tribulation will strike before we dock; others say it won’t hit until we are safely ashore.

There are those who speak to the captain in a personal language. There are those who think such languages are extinct.

There are those who think the officers should wear robes, there are
those who think there should be no officers at all, and there are those
who think we are all officers and should all wear robes.

And, oh, how we tend to cluster.

And then there is the issue of the weekly meeting at which the captain
is thanked and his words are read. All agree on its importance, but few
agree on its nature. Some want it loud, others quiet. Some want ritual,
others spontaneity. Some want to celebrate so they can meditate; others
meditate so they can celebrate. Some want a meeting for those who’ve
gone overboard. Others want to reach those overboard but without going
overboard and neglecting those on board.

And, oh, how we tend to cluster.

The consequence is a rocky boat. There is trouble on deck. Fights have
broken out. Sailors have refused to speak to each other. There have even
been times when one group refused to acknowledge the presence of others
on the ship. Most tragically, some adrift at sea have chosen not to
board the boat because of the quarreling of the sailors.

“What do
we do?” we’d like to ask the captain. “How can there be harmony on the
ship?” We don’t have to go far to find the answer.

On the last night of his life Jesus prayed a prayer that stands as a citadel for all Christians:
I pray for these followers, but I am also praying for all those who
will believe in me because of their teaching. Father, I pray that they
can be one. As you are in me and I am in you, I pray that they can also
be one in us. Then the world will believe that you sent me. (John 17:20)

How precious are these words. Jesus, knowing the end is near, prays one
final time for his followers. Striking, isn’t it, that he prayed not
for their success, their safety, or their happiness. He prayed for their
unity. He prayed that they would love each other.

As he prayed
for them, he also prayed for “those who will believe because of their
teaching.” That means us! In his last prayer Jesus prayed that you and I
be one."